It’s like groundhog day

If I’m not mistaken, tomorrow is Groundhog Day. In Britain that has no resonance. At least no weather predicting resonance. Instead when folks here say “It’s like Groundhog Day,” they’re not saying today will be a bellweather for the next six weeks, they’re saying “It’s like deja vu – all over again.” It means that the same [stupid] thing happens again and again and again. Based purely on that film.

And each and every year, when I say “Hey, I think it’s Groundhog Day,” they say “Is that for real?”

And I explain about the weather predicting abilities of Punxsatawney Phil and how we’ll have six more weeks of winter – or not. I have to do it every year. It’s like Groundhog Day deja vu all over again.

Funnily enough the origin of Groundhog Day is not some kooky American nonsense, but rather is steeped in European superstition – Candlemas Day -which falls midway between Winter and Spring Solstice according to a Groundhog Day history page. Or as they used to say in England:

If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter has another flight.
If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,
Winter will not come again.

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I’m preempting the Pennsylvanian rodent and guessing that there will be six more weeks of winter. Blehhh.

Signs of life

I tend to think of the horticultural year following the calendar year. I often have a few hardy flowers hanging on in sheltered areas of my garden well into December. The weather in England is mild, but the early days of January can bring some harsh cold. But rarely, if ever, pipe freezing cold.

But by the end of the first month I expect to signs of spring, the hellebores in bloom – the green tips of narcissus and snowdrops poking through.

The hellebores are in bloom (pictures from last year) and the bulbs are coming up.

We took a walk in Richmond Park today – for the first time in a while. The weather has been so rainy and overcast that we can barely go for short local walks some days.

In Richmond Park, the witch hazel trees are in bloom. I’ve never been able to take any photos of witch hazels that I’ve been happy with – so this one is from Mason Bryant that I found on Flickr. It was too gray today to an attempt a shot against the sky and I can’t seem to get the effect I want with the camera’s automatic flash. And I guess I can never quite capture the sweet and spicy smell of the witch hazel or the brightness of the yellow in a bare and cold winter forrest.

I did photograph some other signs that the horticultural cycle is starting over. Like these incredibly early azaleas

or these mahonias – another sweet yellow bloomer in the winter woodscape

A limited success

I finally gave up on the tomatoes – and pulled up the sole remaining plant this afternoon to be replaced with a winter bedding scheme.

That one red ‘un is nearly the extent of my harvest. I got a couple of cherry tomatoes earlier in the season, but that’s it. It’s just been too damp, too cool and too gray for much ripening.

Oh well, better luck next year. Anyone know a good recipe that calls for one bowl of green ta-maters?

Running hot and cold

For my readers in the South, you’re not gonna like this, but I have to report: I’m cold.

I’m wearing a sweatshirt in my house. It’s August. I have to bundle my baby up to take him out. (And I’m not a bundler.)

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I note that Metro Davidson’s [Nashville] school buses do not have AC. I had two thoughts:

Thought One:
Ha – those kids need to suck it up. Try commuting on the Underground when we do get a hot August. It’s hotter than EU regulations allow – if you’re transporting animals – no regulations exist for maximum allowable temps for transporting London commuters. It’s crowded. And there’s the underlying current of concern over the continued smooth running of the line. This concern is ready to tip over into panic at any moment – since the Tube trains have a tendency to stall in any weather that isn’t dry and with temps hovering between 45 and 60 degrees Fahrenheit. And there’s not much worse than being stuck for upwards of an hour, stood with your face in your neighbour’s armpit, sweating, straining to understand the driver’s announcements. (Unless, of course, this happened in the Summer of ’05 when we weren’t just worried about trains stalling.)

And the smell… best not to mention the smell.

But, I admit, this is not a charitable thought. And the children…won’t somebody (me?) please think of the children? I mean what would I do if Cletus were faced with such conditions? Knowing me – I’d probably tell him tales of commuting on the London Underground.

Thought Two:
At a cost of $15,000 a bus, I’m not sure Metro should be retrofitting air conditioning. They really only need the AC a few weeks a year. As the bus fleet is replaced, perhaps they could invest in a little cooling.

But I also note that Metro schools are open only half days this week because of the heat. (Here’s Nashville News 2 film on that) – although there is a positive note:

Brunch will be served at all schools.

How civilised.

You know what. It’s the South, it’s August, it’s hot. Yes, I know it’s not usually that hot – not like it has been this year – but it’s usually pretty darn hot. In August, kids should be at the pool, not sweating in school.

So why not roll back the start of the academic year? I don’t really understand how it crept so far forward anyway. (Was it to match up with the semester schedule of the state Universities?) To be fair, the Mayor said a later start would be considered. I think Tennessee parents should push for it.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

SAD. I think maybe I’ve got SAD. That’s the good ol’ seasonal affective disorder caused by lack of daylight. Only in Britain could one get SAD in the summer.

It’s dreary here. Oh, sure – there have been the occasional glimmers of sunlight (last week wasn’t bad). But summer has largely been a washout. For many people, a complete washout – i.e. their homes and everything. All I’ve lost is a tomato crop. Vine rot. Blecchh.

I’m not the only one feeling the cool. Apparently, there’s been a rush on last minute vacations to…wherever there might be a glimmer of sun. Carbon footprint and environmental protesters be damned, people are crawling over each other to get off this sodden, gray island.

Us. Not so much with the foreign vacation plans. I haven’t even taken Cletus north of the river yet. Plus travel docs, he doesn’t have any. But I wouldn’t mind a little time in the sun.

Rage against the heavens

It’s wet in England.

Now normally, I bet you’d say…yeah, it’s England – what do you expect. But actually, it doesn’t rain that much here. Sure it rains frequently, but not that hard and not that much and especially not in summer. You don’t normally get the kind of torrential rain that I knew in Tennessee. But we’ve had it recently. And now it’s flooding.

So who’s to blame? Can we rage against the heavens (like ol’ Cletus here)?

Kathy has a list of the usual suspects (and a low down on the flood story):

The Independent names the culprit: global warming. But The Guardian implicates La Niña as well. Others blame the fact that 10 percent of homes in England are built on a flood plain. They didn’t call it the Doomsday Book for nothing.

Me and the Vol-in-Law are scouring the government websites to see if we’re in any danger of flooding. Turns out we could be if the rain keeps up and the Thames swells at an inopportune time.

Hell and highwater

There’s been a lot of flooding in England over the last two days. Fortunately, we’re still high and only slightly damp. Or rather we’re slightly damp and nervously quite low. The local cemetery, which lies in the same flood plain that our house is built in (but lower down the gradient) experienced some temporary high water after yesterday’s torrential rains.

There was even more water yesterday, but much of it has drained away. This photo was taken today in the very low lying “memorial garden” section of the cemetery. There are only markers and urns of ashes (at that) – so no fear of bodies floating in the streets of Tooting.

Still waiting

I’m still waiting for my first ripe tomato. Readers in the South (of the US, not England) will be jealous of cool, moist weather. I however wouldn’t mind just a little BBQ weather and enough sunlight to ripen the ‘maters. Particularly this imported strain – Cherokee Purple – reputed to be a heritage variety from Tennessee.

See what interesting folds and ridges it has. I did know I was taking a chance with this tomato – it might not do well outdoors in this cool clime (it was recommended for greenhouse growing) but neither of my other two varieties have ripened either.

But each of my three tomato plants are still blooming and fruiting and growing.

I call this picture “Attack of the killer tomato blossom”

wet, wet Wimbledon

Although my neighbourhood is considerably further down market, I’m really just around the corner from Wimbledon. It’s technically walkable – but it’s a long walk – made longer by the way the roads are cut. If I were a crow, it would be a pretty short flight.

My point is, I’ve lived really close to Wimbledon for a number of years and I’ve never been. In the opening days of the tournament you can queue for tickets at the grounds and it’s quite likely, with a little luck and a little patience that you’ll get to see someone quite famous. And I don’t even think it’s that expensive really – not in the early days.

But the truth is, I’ve never really gotten in to tennis. I can’t play it and I can’t follow it. When my c-section anaesthetist suggested that we might be anticipating the imminent arrival of a Wimbledon tennis star – me and the Vol-in-Law just scoffed. His tennis skills are almost as low as mine.

But I have to admit that I usually really like the buzz around Wimbledon. There’s the usual hope and aspiration that maybe this year there’ll be a British tennis star who’ll win the big giant cup. This year -despite lack of play from rain – the British hopes were dashed astonishingly early.

Financial spillover

I know someone who lives in Wimbledon who rents his house out every year for the tournament and makes a bucket load of money. Although we don’t live that close, we live close enough (you can pick up a special tournament time bus to Wimbledon near our house). Soon we should have a new bus route that stops almost right in front of our house (though thankfully in just the next road over – so we don’t have buses going in front of us). Maybe next year we could at least organise a house swap? That might be cool.

The real spillover

Of course, the real spillover effect we get is the weather. It’s a quite a cliche to say “Oh, it’s Wimbledon – so it must be rainy” – and indeed this year that’s been the case. And we get Wimbledon’s weather. During this tourney, it seems like it rains almost exclusively during the hours of play. Early in the morning, it’s lovely – blue skies, but ten the sky is leaden and by the time of kick off (or whatever the tennis equivalent might be) which is around 11 it seems to be pitching it down.

But at least we didn’t get this.

anthropogenic climatological conditions

This week the theNorth of England nearly washed away in a series of floods. A number of people died and the economic damage was huge and is still being counted up.

And, of course, there were endless speculations about whether these June floods were the result of man made global warming. Well, I don’t know about that, but I do yhink that humans have worsened the impact of the heavy rains. And unlike climate change, there are things that we could do to lessen the impact:

• stop building on flood plains – the flood plains are already overbuilt and we’re not helping the situation by building on them more. If you build your house upon the sand, don’t be surprised if it gets washed away.
• stop concreting over everything – every bit of impermeableness placed on the land results in higher levels of run-off during periods of excess precipitation. Basically, the water doesn’t have a chance to seep into the ground naturally – it all builds up and ends up in your living room. It takes a little bit more thought, but we can have more permeable paving or breaks in the paving. We could start by ensuring proper drainage in our own patio gardens. Water used to pool up in our garden until we removed the concrete between the pavers. It seems a small thing, but in terms of run-off every little bit really does help.
• maintain the drainage system. In much of urban England the natural drainage system of creeks and gullies has been replaced by concrete canals. Sure – this contains the water in times of normal precipitation – but chanelised flow means water moves faster – and faster water is more powerful water. The drainage system was built long ago and wasn’t designed to cope with the high levels of run-off from our concrete jungle and sewage and waste water from our developments. The canals are often poorly maintained now, too. Clogged with willows and weeds and shopping carts, the flow isn’t uniformly smooth. And that causes all kinds of problems on its own.

The government is still not taking these factors into account despite numerous warnings. People are more concerned about climate change where the UK government’s actions will have minimal effect at best (even if you believe in the anthropogenic climate change model). But sensible action in flood prevention can save lives and property now.